Autumn come, the dead leaves flying,
A cricket somewhere softy crying,
A sad breeze whispering at your window,
The pane with trembling fingers prying,
While you're awaiting gentle sleep
Alone before your fireplace lying.
What made you start and raise your head.
Was is a foot the stairway trying?
Aye, 'tis your lover come at last,
Around your waist his strong arm plying.
Before your face he holds a mirror,
Wherein your loveliness espying,
You gaze upon its image long
And linger, dreaming, smiling, sighing.
Over the hill the moon ascends her fiery crown of crimson deep,
Staining the ancient forest red, and the lonely castle keep,
And staining red the tumbling waves that from a murmuring fountain well,
While down the sweeping valley rolls the solemn music of a bell.
Above the river's rocky course rises the castle grim and tall
While, clinging fast against its face, a knight is scaling high the wall;
Clambering up on hands and knees, and holding tight to crack and edge,
Until the rusty bars he breaks that issue from a window ledge.
Silently he passes through, and soft, on tiptoe, does he creep
Into a secret chamber where the wall is hung with shadow deep
And where the starry sky between the bars and tangled creepers gleams
And timidly and unassured the broken moonlight softly streams;
Where strikes the moon the walls and floor are white as though they had been chalked,
But darkness lies where shadows fall, as black as though with charcoal marked.
Down from the ceiling to the floor has an enchanted spider spun
A wonder web, more light and fair than e'er by human weaver done.
It trembles in the silver light as though its veil would surely tear
Beneath the weight of misty gems that shine upon its filet there.
Beyond the web, in magic sleep, the sovereign's lovely daughter lies,
Drenched in the moon's unearthly light, before the knight's enraptured eyes.
Beneath the sheet her form he sees, her sleeping body young and fair,
For the silken coverings hide it but little from his stare,
And here and there her sleeping gown parted a little leaves to show
The secret lovely nakedness of girlish limbs as white as snow.
Upon her pillow's smooth incline her heavy golden hair is laid,
While on her temples gently throb her pulses in a violet shade:
Drawn as though in one straight line, in noble and bewitching grace
Beneath the curtain of lids, her eyes in slumber seem to beat?
While one smooth rounded shapely arm lies nakedly upon the sheet.
Her full and gently moving breast in maiden ripeness tender shows
And through her lips, a bit apart, her burning breath in silence flows.
Her delicate and lovely mouth moves sweetly in a wistful smile,
While over her and round her head a mound of fragrant petals pile.
But now the knight draws near her bed and stretching out his hand he tears
The spider's sparkling wonder web and spills the precious gems it bears.
Upon her beauty's nakedness he feeds his hungry heart's desire
And scarcely can his breast contain the burning ardour of its fire;
Till clasping her to him at last in one long, clinging sweet caress,
His scarlet mouth is set on hers, and on her lips his hot lips press.
Then taking from her hand a ring, glittering with jewels dear,
Turns, and through the moonlit casement goes our dauntless cavalier.
When morning comes, and the wondering maid finds that the web is broken through
And in her mirror sees her lips by thirsty kisses bruised and blue,
Sadly she smiles and softly says, while gazing on her image white;
"O dauntless, dark curled fairy prince, come back again to me tonight".
Each one of us has private notions about sweet maidens and their ways,
But no man in his sense will doubt that they Love best themselves to praise.
Just as Narcissus saw his face framed in the water's silver glass
And finding he was fair, at once the lover and the loved one was.
If we could only see the maid when she essays her winning airs,
When all alone with with round eyes she at her mirrored image stares,
See the provoking, pouting lips moving to call herself by name,
And she herself more lovable than all the world does soft acclaim;
He that is wise in maidens' ways would read her secret at a glace,
And know the lovely lass has grown aware of her own elegance.
Idol thou, o thief of wits, great blue eyes and golden hair,
The worship of your maiden heart has chosen too an idol fair !
What does she whisper secretly, what words of love does she bestow
Upon the figure mirrored there, which she regards from top to toe?
"A beauteous dream I had indeed, a fairy prince who came by night.
I almost squeezed the life from him, my arm about him clasped so tight.
And thus it is, with outstretched arms, my gaze my image does caress
When I before my mirror stand alone in all my nakedness,
And like a cloak against my sides my heavy hanging golden hair,
When I regard myself and smile, and fain would kiss my shoulder bare,
Until the blood mounts to my face for very shame of my desires,
O fairy prince why don't you come to quench the flame my being fires,
If in my body I rejoice, if I find pleasure in my eyes,
It is because I see 'tis there the wonders of his passion rise;
The love I love I lavish on myself is only of his love a part.
Mouth, learn wisdom's quick restraint, lest you betray my loving heart
Even to him who steals by night to the couch on which his loved one lies,
Be passionate as a woman is, but as an artful child be wise".
So every night the fairy prince does to her bedside softly creep
And with a sweet enchanted kiss awake her gently from her sleep.
And when he to the window goes to flee before the dawn away,
She will retain him with her eyes and humbly pleading she will say:
"O stay, o go not with the dawn, think of the fiery vows you made,
Do not depart, may black-locked prince, o luckless and ill-fated shade.
You will not find in wandering through all the endless ways of space
A soul to love you as I do, you will not find a fairer face.
Sweet is the shadow of your eyes with depth of sadness unsurpassed,
May no one on your, luckless course the evil eye upon you cast".
Then to her bed he comes again, about her waist her his strong arms steal,
She whispers words of tender love, whispers which her fiery kisses seal.
He murmurs "Whisper on, dear love, and let thy eyes' soft mystery
Speak on in meaningless sweet words, that full of meaning are to me.
Life's golden moment, swift as light, as transient as the rising smoke,
I dream entire when with my hands thy mouth and shapely arm I stroke,
When on my breast you lean your head feeling my heart's enamoured beat
And I in passion press my lips upon your rounded shoulder sweet;
And when our thirsty lips unite, I drink thy breath into my soul,
Our hearts grown heavy in our breasts, that each the other's pain console.
When, lost in ecstasy of love, you hold your burning cheek to mine,
And when your long, soft golden hair about my neck you gently twine,
And when at last you close your eyes and generously your kisses give,
Then am I happiest of men, the height of joy superlative...
And you... but no, I have no words, my tongue is tied and cannot move,
I would, and yet I cannot speak... I cannot tell you how I love".
Thus would they talk and so much say, such happiness was in them springing,
Yet often was their discourse checked, their lips so often sweetly clinging,
Thus clasped in close embrace they lay, drinking of lover's joy their fill.
Till silent grew their lips at last, although their eyes were speaking still
And bashfully she covered up her face, with soft confusion red,
And hid her tearful eyes within her shining hair of golden thread.
Now white and waxen is your face that ruddy like an apple shone,
And your smooth and lovely cheeks have shrunken grown and thin and wan.
Now from your eyes your silken tresses wipe many a sad despairing tear
That from your broken heart is sent. Disenchanted you appear,
Standing thus before your window, with no word upon your lips.
Now you raise your long wet lashes, and out of the room your sad soul slips,
Soaring up the limpid heavens where the tireless lark does fly.
You would call for him to take you with him up the shining sky.
The bird flies on quite unawares while you with tearful eyes remain,
Your luckless lips devoid of speech, trembling as though in pain.
O do not quench in useless weeping the light that gleams from your blue eyes;
Do not forget that in their tears the secret of their beauty lies.
Thus, silver drops, from heaven's space, the falling stars descend like rain,
But ere they cross the deep blue vault they are each one re-caught again,
For should they weep their tears away the heavens would be blind and bare.
Fruitless is it that you essay to span the lofty dome of air.
The night of moonshine and of stars, of streams like mirrors shining bright
Cannot be likened anyway unto the tomb's dark endless night.
It does but lend your beauty charm if now and then a tear be shed,
But if you drain the fountains dry, how shall they be replenished?
Let the colour gain your cheeks, as proud and lovely as a rose,
Your youthful cheeks that now are pale as violet shaded mountain snows.
Your eyes give back their violet night that all eternity endears,
But which so swiftly destroyed beneath the track of bitter tears.
Who is there who is mad enough to burn on coals an emerald rare,
That all its lovely lustrous shine be lost and squandered in the air?
You veil your eyes' dark brilliancy to waste your beauty unbeguiled,
And knows the world not what it lacks. O weep no more, you hapless child.
O king, with long and tangled beard, like twisted hanks of cotton wool,
There is no wisdom in your brains: with bran and dust your skull is full.
Are you well pleased to be alone, you sorry joker, weak and old,
Poor are you now in very truth, that once had riches beyond words.
Your daughter you have driven out, to some far corner of the earth,
That in a mean and lonely hut to a young prince she should give birth.
In vain you send your messengers to search for her the whole world round,
For not a single one of them can guess the place she may be found.
Grey are the autumn evenings now; the water of the lake is grey,
A thousand ripples cross its face to hide among the reeds away;
While through the forest gently sighs a wind that takes the withered leaves
And shakes them softly to the ground, a passing wind that sadly heaves
The boughs. Till now the forest branches stripped of all their leaves are bare
And does the lonely moon unchecked her beams of silver squander there.
In melancholy harmonies the brook is murmuring its distress
The wailing breeze snaps off a twig and nature dons her saddest dress.
But who is this that wanders down the steep and winding forest track,
This youth who o'er the valley throws his eagle eyes of fiery black?
O dark-haired prince, seven years have passed since when you climbed the castle wall,
Have you forgot the lovely maid that loved you well and gave you all?
Now in the open field he sees a little, bright, bare footed child
Endeavouring to drive along a quacking brood of ducklings wild.
"Good day to you, my lad", he cries... "Good day brave stranger," says the lad.
"Tell me what's your name young man". "Calin, the name my father had.
Whenever I my mother ask whose boy I am she says the same:
A fairy prince your father is, and Calin also is his name".
And as he listens only he knows how his heart leaps up with joy
To see this child that drives the ducks and recognize him as his boy
Hi enters now the narrow hut where, at a wooden bench's end,
A rush light in an earthen pot its feeble yellow light does serend.
Two large round cakes he finds are set to bake upon the hearth's rude stone;
One shoe is flung beneath a beam and one behind the door is thrown.
An old and dented coffee-mill somewhere in a corner lies,
While near the fire a sleek tomcat purrs and cleans its ears and eye
Beneath the icon of a saint, hanging be smoked upon the wall,
A little candela is hung, as poppy seed its flame is small.
Below the icon on a shelf are thyme and mint arranged in heaps,
From which throughout the darkened hut a hot and peppery fragrance seeps.
Upon the dingy plaster walls and on the stone besmeared with clay
The infant, with a charcoal stick, has drawn, to wile the time away,
Pigs with corkscrew curling tails and little trotters drawn like twigs,
The kind that really most become all self-respecting piggie-wigs.
Across the tiny window frame a bladder stretched in place of glass,
Through which but faint and gloomy rays into the cottage dimly pass.
Upon a bed of simple boards, motionless the princess lies,
Her face towards the window turned, but closed in sleep her lovely eyes.
He sits beside her on the bed, he lays his hand upon her brow,
And sadly he caresses her, he sighs and fondles her, and now,
Bending down his lips to her, quietly her name he calls,
Till, opening her drowsy eyes o'er which a fringe of lashes falls,
Terrified she starts and stares, believing it is all a dream;
Fain would she smile but does not dare, she is afraid yet dares not scream.
He lifts her from her narrow bed and holds his arms around her fast,
His heart so beats within his breast he feels that it must burst at last.
She stares at him and still she stares, but not a single world is said
Then laughs with brimming tearful eyes, before this miracle afraid.
Around her finger long and white she twists a mesh of raven hair,
Then falls upon his ready breast to hide from him her blushes there.
He smoothes away the kerchief that wraps and covers up her head,
And tenderly with burning lips does kiss that crown of golden thread.
She raises her face to his, her eyes, in which sparkling tears spring
And fondly their lips unite, and each does to the other cling.
If through the copper woods you pass, the silver woods shine far away,
There you will hear a thousand throats proclaim the forest's roundelay.
The grass beside the bubbling spring shines like snow in sunlight fair
And blue flowers drenched in moisture rise and tremble in the perfumed air.
It seems the tall and ancient trees have souls beneath their bar concealed,
Souls that oft amid their boughs by singing voices are revealed,
While down the hidden forest glades, beneath the twilight's silver haze,
One sees the rapid brooklets leap along their shining pebbly ways.
In hurrying, gleaming ripples bright, sighing among the flowers they go
And tumbling down the torrent's track murmur and gurgle as they flow,
Swelling in liquid masses clear over the shallow gravel beds,
A swirling, eddying, dancing stream, on which the moon her silver sheds.
Many small blue butterflies, and many a swarm of golden bees
Busy at visiting the honey flowers pass in among the trees,
And a host of darting, shining flies of different kinds and hues
Make the summer air vibrate with colours that the eyes confuse.
Beside the sleepy trembling lake, its waters softly glimmering,
Stands a long table over which the torches' flames are shimmering.
Emperors and empresses from North and South and West and East
Are come to meet the lovely bride and celebrate that weddings feast,
Paladins with golden hair and dragons dressed in wondrous mail,
Magicians and astrologers, and the clown Pepele happy and pale.
Above them all the aged king sits in his royal high-backed chair,
Upon his head he wears a crown, has trimmed his beard and combed his hair,
Bolt upright on cushions high he sits, his sceptre in his hand
And is, lest flies should trouble him, by willow bearing pages fanned.
Now out of the forest's black retreat advances Calin, by his side,
Her hand within her bridegroom's hand, his radiant and smiling bride.
As they come near one hears the leaves rustle beneath her rich long dress.
She has her cheeks flushing with pleasure and her eyes sparkling with joy.
Sweeping almost to the ground billows her soft and golden hair,
Falling about her shapely arms and over her white shoulders bare.
Gracefully indeed she moves, carries herself with noble mien,
Upon her brow she wears a star and in her hair blue flowers are seen.
The king bids all the guests to seat themselves, the feast is then begun.
For bridesmaid does he name the moon, for groomsman names the sun.
The guests about the table sit according to their rank and years,
The cobza and the violin play softly to delighted ears.
But what strange music sounds beside? Low as a swarm of bees it hums.
The guests in wonder stare, but none can tell from whence it comes.
Till they descry a cobweb vast hung like a bridge across the glade
O'er which a multitude of beasts rush by in murmuring cascade.
Ants in hundreds carrying sacks of flour and little lumps of yeast
In their strong mouths, to bake puddings and cakes for the wedding feast,
Bees with honey from the comb and pure gold dust upon their thighs,
From which the woodworm, goldsmith fine, will make fantastic jewelleries.
Till lastly comes the wedding train, a cricket bears the usher's rod,
While round him leaps a host of fleas, their tiny feet in iron shod.
In a portentous velvet robe straddles a great potbellied drone,
Who in a drowsy nasal drawl mimics the priestly monotone.
Grasshoppers pull a nutshell coach, the cobweb shakes as it goes by
Within it, curling his moustache, reclines the bridegroom butterfly.
And after him there comes a host of butterflies of every sort
In light hearted cavalcade, playful, gallant, full of sport.
Mosquitoes form the orchestra, here are beetles, there are snails.
The bride, a timid violet moth, shelters behind her trailing veils.
Upon the table spread, the nimble usher cricket takes a spring,
Rises upon his hind legs, bows, and clicks his spurs so that they ring;
Then coughs and buttons up his coat and says, ere the amazement ceased,
"Pardon us, Lords And Ladies, if we have by yours our wedding feast."
A cricket somewhere softy crying,
A sad breeze whispering at your window,
The pane with trembling fingers prying,
While you're awaiting gentle sleep
Alone before your fireplace lying.
What made you start and raise your head.
Was is a foot the stairway trying?
Aye, 'tis your lover come at last,
Around your waist his strong arm plying.
Before your face he holds a mirror,
Wherein your loveliness espying,
You gaze upon its image long
And linger, dreaming, smiling, sighing.
Over the hill the moon ascends her fiery crown of crimson deep,
Staining the ancient forest red, and the lonely castle keep,
And staining red the tumbling waves that from a murmuring fountain well,
While down the sweeping valley rolls the solemn music of a bell.
Above the river's rocky course rises the castle grim and tall
While, clinging fast against its face, a knight is scaling high the wall;
Clambering up on hands and knees, and holding tight to crack and edge,
Until the rusty bars he breaks that issue from a window ledge.
Silently he passes through, and soft, on tiptoe, does he creep
Into a secret chamber where the wall is hung with shadow deep
And where the starry sky between the bars and tangled creepers gleams
And timidly and unassured the broken moonlight softly streams;
Where strikes the moon the walls and floor are white as though they had been chalked,
But darkness lies where shadows fall, as black as though with charcoal marked.
Down from the ceiling to the floor has an enchanted spider spun
A wonder web, more light and fair than e'er by human weaver done.
It trembles in the silver light as though its veil would surely tear
Beneath the weight of misty gems that shine upon its filet there.
Beyond the web, in magic sleep, the sovereign's lovely daughter lies,
Drenched in the moon's unearthly light, before the knight's enraptured eyes.
Beneath the sheet her form he sees, her sleeping body young and fair,
For the silken coverings hide it but little from his stare,
And here and there her sleeping gown parted a little leaves to show
The secret lovely nakedness of girlish limbs as white as snow.
Upon her pillow's smooth incline her heavy golden hair is laid,
While on her temples gently throb her pulses in a violet shade:
Drawn as though in one straight line, in noble and bewitching grace
Beneath the curtain of lids, her eyes in slumber seem to beat?
While one smooth rounded shapely arm lies nakedly upon the sheet.
Her full and gently moving breast in maiden ripeness tender shows
And through her lips, a bit apart, her burning breath in silence flows.
Her delicate and lovely mouth moves sweetly in a wistful smile,
While over her and round her head a mound of fragrant petals pile.
But now the knight draws near her bed and stretching out his hand he tears
The spider's sparkling wonder web and spills the precious gems it bears.
Upon her beauty's nakedness he feeds his hungry heart's desire
And scarcely can his breast contain the burning ardour of its fire;
Till clasping her to him at last in one long, clinging sweet caress,
His scarlet mouth is set on hers, and on her lips his hot lips press.
Then taking from her hand a ring, glittering with jewels dear,
Turns, and through the moonlit casement goes our dauntless cavalier.
When morning comes, and the wondering maid finds that the web is broken through
And in her mirror sees her lips by thirsty kisses bruised and blue,
Sadly she smiles and softly says, while gazing on her image white;
"O dauntless, dark curled fairy prince, come back again to me tonight".
Each one of us has private notions about sweet maidens and their ways,
But no man in his sense will doubt that they Love best themselves to praise.
Just as Narcissus saw his face framed in the water's silver glass
And finding he was fair, at once the lover and the loved one was.
If we could only see the maid when she essays her winning airs,
When all alone with with round eyes she at her mirrored image stares,
See the provoking, pouting lips moving to call herself by name,
And she herself more lovable than all the world does soft acclaim;
He that is wise in maidens' ways would read her secret at a glace,
And know the lovely lass has grown aware of her own elegance.
Idol thou, o thief of wits, great blue eyes and golden hair,
The worship of your maiden heart has chosen too an idol fair !
What does she whisper secretly, what words of love does she bestow
Upon the figure mirrored there, which she regards from top to toe?
"A beauteous dream I had indeed, a fairy prince who came by night.
I almost squeezed the life from him, my arm about him clasped so tight.
And thus it is, with outstretched arms, my gaze my image does caress
When I before my mirror stand alone in all my nakedness,
And like a cloak against my sides my heavy hanging golden hair,
When I regard myself and smile, and fain would kiss my shoulder bare,
Until the blood mounts to my face for very shame of my desires,
O fairy prince why don't you come to quench the flame my being fires,
If in my body I rejoice, if I find pleasure in my eyes,
It is because I see 'tis there the wonders of his passion rise;
The love I love I lavish on myself is only of his love a part.
Mouth, learn wisdom's quick restraint, lest you betray my loving heart
Even to him who steals by night to the couch on which his loved one lies,
Be passionate as a woman is, but as an artful child be wise".
So every night the fairy prince does to her bedside softly creep
And with a sweet enchanted kiss awake her gently from her sleep.
And when he to the window goes to flee before the dawn away,
She will retain him with her eyes and humbly pleading she will say:
"O stay, o go not with the dawn, think of the fiery vows you made,
Do not depart, may black-locked prince, o luckless and ill-fated shade.
You will not find in wandering through all the endless ways of space
A soul to love you as I do, you will not find a fairer face.
Sweet is the shadow of your eyes with depth of sadness unsurpassed,
May no one on your, luckless course the evil eye upon you cast".
Then to her bed he comes again, about her waist her his strong arms steal,
She whispers words of tender love, whispers which her fiery kisses seal.
He murmurs "Whisper on, dear love, and let thy eyes' soft mystery
Speak on in meaningless sweet words, that full of meaning are to me.
Life's golden moment, swift as light, as transient as the rising smoke,
I dream entire when with my hands thy mouth and shapely arm I stroke,
When on my breast you lean your head feeling my heart's enamoured beat
And I in passion press my lips upon your rounded shoulder sweet;
And when our thirsty lips unite, I drink thy breath into my soul,
Our hearts grown heavy in our breasts, that each the other's pain console.
When, lost in ecstasy of love, you hold your burning cheek to mine,
And when your long, soft golden hair about my neck you gently twine,
And when at last you close your eyes and generously your kisses give,
Then am I happiest of men, the height of joy superlative...
And you... but no, I have no words, my tongue is tied and cannot move,
I would, and yet I cannot speak... I cannot tell you how I love".
Thus would they talk and so much say, such happiness was in them springing,
Yet often was their discourse checked, their lips so often sweetly clinging,
Thus clasped in close embrace they lay, drinking of lover's joy their fill.
Till silent grew their lips at last, although their eyes were speaking still
And bashfully she covered up her face, with soft confusion red,
And hid her tearful eyes within her shining hair of golden thread.
Now white and waxen is your face that ruddy like an apple shone,
And your smooth and lovely cheeks have shrunken grown and thin and wan.
Now from your eyes your silken tresses wipe many a sad despairing tear
That from your broken heart is sent. Disenchanted you appear,
Standing thus before your window, with no word upon your lips.
Now you raise your long wet lashes, and out of the room your sad soul slips,
Soaring up the limpid heavens where the tireless lark does fly.
You would call for him to take you with him up the shining sky.
The bird flies on quite unawares while you with tearful eyes remain,
Your luckless lips devoid of speech, trembling as though in pain.
O do not quench in useless weeping the light that gleams from your blue eyes;
Do not forget that in their tears the secret of their beauty lies.
Thus, silver drops, from heaven's space, the falling stars descend like rain,
But ere they cross the deep blue vault they are each one re-caught again,
For should they weep their tears away the heavens would be blind and bare.
Fruitless is it that you essay to span the lofty dome of air.
The night of moonshine and of stars, of streams like mirrors shining bright
Cannot be likened anyway unto the tomb's dark endless night.
It does but lend your beauty charm if now and then a tear be shed,
But if you drain the fountains dry, how shall they be replenished?
Let the colour gain your cheeks, as proud and lovely as a rose,
Your youthful cheeks that now are pale as violet shaded mountain snows.
Your eyes give back their violet night that all eternity endears,
But which so swiftly destroyed beneath the track of bitter tears.
Who is there who is mad enough to burn on coals an emerald rare,
That all its lovely lustrous shine be lost and squandered in the air?
You veil your eyes' dark brilliancy to waste your beauty unbeguiled,
And knows the world not what it lacks. O weep no more, you hapless child.
O king, with long and tangled beard, like twisted hanks of cotton wool,
There is no wisdom in your brains: with bran and dust your skull is full.
Are you well pleased to be alone, you sorry joker, weak and old,
Poor are you now in very truth, that once had riches beyond words.
Your daughter you have driven out, to some far corner of the earth,
That in a mean and lonely hut to a young prince she should give birth.
In vain you send your messengers to search for her the whole world round,
For not a single one of them can guess the place she may be found.
Grey are the autumn evenings now; the water of the lake is grey,
A thousand ripples cross its face to hide among the reeds away;
While through the forest gently sighs a wind that takes the withered leaves
And shakes them softly to the ground, a passing wind that sadly heaves
The boughs. Till now the forest branches stripped of all their leaves are bare
And does the lonely moon unchecked her beams of silver squander there.
In melancholy harmonies the brook is murmuring its distress
The wailing breeze snaps off a twig and nature dons her saddest dress.
But who is this that wanders down the steep and winding forest track,
This youth who o'er the valley throws his eagle eyes of fiery black?
O dark-haired prince, seven years have passed since when you climbed the castle wall,
Have you forgot the lovely maid that loved you well and gave you all?
Now in the open field he sees a little, bright, bare footed child
Endeavouring to drive along a quacking brood of ducklings wild.
"Good day to you, my lad", he cries... "Good day brave stranger," says the lad.
"Tell me what's your name young man". "Calin, the name my father had.
Whenever I my mother ask whose boy I am she says the same:
A fairy prince your father is, and Calin also is his name".
And as he listens only he knows how his heart leaps up with joy
To see this child that drives the ducks and recognize him as his boy
Hi enters now the narrow hut where, at a wooden bench's end,
A rush light in an earthen pot its feeble yellow light does serend.
Two large round cakes he finds are set to bake upon the hearth's rude stone;
One shoe is flung beneath a beam and one behind the door is thrown.
An old and dented coffee-mill somewhere in a corner lies,
While near the fire a sleek tomcat purrs and cleans its ears and eye
Beneath the icon of a saint, hanging be smoked upon the wall,
A little candela is hung, as poppy seed its flame is small.
Below the icon on a shelf are thyme and mint arranged in heaps,
From which throughout the darkened hut a hot and peppery fragrance seeps.
Upon the dingy plaster walls and on the stone besmeared with clay
The infant, with a charcoal stick, has drawn, to wile the time away,
Pigs with corkscrew curling tails and little trotters drawn like twigs,
The kind that really most become all self-respecting piggie-wigs.
Across the tiny window frame a bladder stretched in place of glass,
Through which but faint and gloomy rays into the cottage dimly pass.
Upon a bed of simple boards, motionless the princess lies,
Her face towards the window turned, but closed in sleep her lovely eyes.
He sits beside her on the bed, he lays his hand upon her brow,
And sadly he caresses her, he sighs and fondles her, and now,
Bending down his lips to her, quietly her name he calls,
Till, opening her drowsy eyes o'er which a fringe of lashes falls,
Terrified she starts and stares, believing it is all a dream;
Fain would she smile but does not dare, she is afraid yet dares not scream.
He lifts her from her narrow bed and holds his arms around her fast,
His heart so beats within his breast he feels that it must burst at last.
She stares at him and still she stares, but not a single world is said
Then laughs with brimming tearful eyes, before this miracle afraid.
Around her finger long and white she twists a mesh of raven hair,
Then falls upon his ready breast to hide from him her blushes there.
He smoothes away the kerchief that wraps and covers up her head,
And tenderly with burning lips does kiss that crown of golden thread.
She raises her face to his, her eyes, in which sparkling tears spring
And fondly their lips unite, and each does to the other cling.
If through the copper woods you pass, the silver woods shine far away,
There you will hear a thousand throats proclaim the forest's roundelay.
The grass beside the bubbling spring shines like snow in sunlight fair
And blue flowers drenched in moisture rise and tremble in the perfumed air.
It seems the tall and ancient trees have souls beneath their bar concealed,
Souls that oft amid their boughs by singing voices are revealed,
While down the hidden forest glades, beneath the twilight's silver haze,
One sees the rapid brooklets leap along their shining pebbly ways.
In hurrying, gleaming ripples bright, sighing among the flowers they go
And tumbling down the torrent's track murmur and gurgle as they flow,
Swelling in liquid masses clear over the shallow gravel beds,
A swirling, eddying, dancing stream, on which the moon her silver sheds.
Many small blue butterflies, and many a swarm of golden bees
Busy at visiting the honey flowers pass in among the trees,
And a host of darting, shining flies of different kinds and hues
Make the summer air vibrate with colours that the eyes confuse.
Beside the sleepy trembling lake, its waters softly glimmering,
Stands a long table over which the torches' flames are shimmering.
Emperors and empresses from North and South and West and East
Are come to meet the lovely bride and celebrate that weddings feast,
Paladins with golden hair and dragons dressed in wondrous mail,
Magicians and astrologers, and the clown Pepele happy and pale.
Above them all the aged king sits in his royal high-backed chair,
Upon his head he wears a crown, has trimmed his beard and combed his hair,
Bolt upright on cushions high he sits, his sceptre in his hand
And is, lest flies should trouble him, by willow bearing pages fanned.
Now out of the forest's black retreat advances Calin, by his side,
Her hand within her bridegroom's hand, his radiant and smiling bride.
As they come near one hears the leaves rustle beneath her rich long dress.
She has her cheeks flushing with pleasure and her eyes sparkling with joy.
Sweeping almost to the ground billows her soft and golden hair,
Falling about her shapely arms and over her white shoulders bare.
Gracefully indeed she moves, carries herself with noble mien,
Upon her brow she wears a star and in her hair blue flowers are seen.
The king bids all the guests to seat themselves, the feast is then begun.
For bridesmaid does he name the moon, for groomsman names the sun.
The guests about the table sit according to their rank and years,
The cobza and the violin play softly to delighted ears.
But what strange music sounds beside? Low as a swarm of bees it hums.
The guests in wonder stare, but none can tell from whence it comes.
Till they descry a cobweb vast hung like a bridge across the glade
O'er which a multitude of beasts rush by in murmuring cascade.
Ants in hundreds carrying sacks of flour and little lumps of yeast
In their strong mouths, to bake puddings and cakes for the wedding feast,
Bees with honey from the comb and pure gold dust upon their thighs,
From which the woodworm, goldsmith fine, will make fantastic jewelleries.
Till lastly comes the wedding train, a cricket bears the usher's rod,
While round him leaps a host of fleas, their tiny feet in iron shod.
In a portentous velvet robe straddles a great potbellied drone,
Who in a drowsy nasal drawl mimics the priestly monotone.
Grasshoppers pull a nutshell coach, the cobweb shakes as it goes by
Within it, curling his moustache, reclines the bridegroom butterfly.
And after him there comes a host of butterflies of every sort
In light hearted cavalcade, playful, gallant, full of sport.
Mosquitoes form the orchestra, here are beetles, there are snails.
The bride, a timid violet moth, shelters behind her trailing veils.
Upon the table spread, the nimble usher cricket takes a spring,
Rises upon his hind legs, bows, and clicks his spurs so that they ring;
Then coughs and buttons up his coat and says, ere the amazement ceased,
"Pardon us, Lords And Ladies, if we have by yours our wedding feast."
